


Monster

by kscribbles



Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Slash, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kscribbles/pseuds/kscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Jerry/Peter. Anything, anything at all! There's not enough of those two!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monster

**Author's Note:**

> This is an odd one for me. Not just because it's my first time writing Jerry (and then only barely), but because it's pre-movie, and it's sad. It hurt me to write, so I kept it short. But... I couldn't get the idea out of my head, so I put it into a fill for a non-specific prompt. Because I can't see consensual sex between Jerry and Peter during/post-movie without going vastly AU... What if a young Peter (not AS young as implied by the film. He's 17 here and UK legal) meets Jerry before his parents die? Obviously, Peter has crazy survivor's guilt. I made it worse. I'm so sorry, Peter. Written for the lj community FrightNight2011's kinkmeme: http://frightnight2011.livejournal.com/718.html

He doesn't know that Jerry is the vampire that killed his parents, not for sure (though he has his suspicions when he recognizes the insignia from Charley's photo), until he sees him in that basement. Because when he first met Jerry, he was calling himself something else (Peter is sure of that, though he never caught his name), spoke with an accent similar to Peter's own, and didn't seem like a monster at all.

No, he was just the beautiful bloke who made eyes at Peter from across the crowded pub. Peter was 17, hanging out with an older crowd, never once not served for being underage. He was suave, already learning the tricks of the trade, a pickpocket and a street magician, before he'd ever needed the cash to live. Peter already had the magnetism that would later make him a success.

The man wasn't even the first bloke he'd shagged. Or the first stranger. He was the first that was both those things, though. And later Peter would learn, his first vampire as well. But he didn't know any of that yet. And he wasn't even sure who seduced whom that night. He only knew that he had to have him; he'd have dragged him home to fuck even if his parents weren't out of town. He knew that he was hard before the older man ever kissed him. And he knew that if he died, pushed up against a door, snogging this man in the rain on his front step, if the way the man kissed with his whole body, ended up killing him on the spot, he'd die in absolute ecstasy.

Pulling away to catch his breath, Peter panted in two quick words. “Come inside.”

The man smiled. A smirk, almost. His dark eyes shone with amusement, arousal, a definite spark of danger, and Peter's cock hardened further.

“In your house?” the man drawled, “Or in you?”

“ _Yes_.”

He grabbed the knob behind him, twisting as the man thudded one hand against the door by Peter's head and shoved it open, tumbling with Peter into the entry hall.

They didn’t even make it upstairs to Peter’s bedroom. On the floor of the sitting room, it was all hands and rain-cooled skin, and zips, and clothes tearing in haste. It was mouths and tongues and teeth, but oh, no biting. It was this man inside him, oddly gentle in the rush, like the other man knew exactly what would hurt, what would be too rough, and carefully—though perhaps barely—avoided it. It was Peter spilling onto the carpet before the man even hit his stride. And then, far from being spent beneath his lover, feeling the pleasure rise again with each press of the man’s hips, each slide of his cock, coming _again_ , moving helplessly into the man’s tight fist.

It was, quite simply, the best, most intense shag of his young life. Afterwards, he told the man so and was rewarded with another ridiculously sexy, dark smirk. Some whispered words of a promise were spoken before Peter fell into a, post-orgasmic, coma-like, deep sleep. When the chill woke him a few hours later, the man was long gone. No name, no phone number, no way to get in touch. Ah well, Peter thought, it'd be a story to tell, anyway. He shrugged, cleaned up, climbed upstairs and into pajamas.

He didn't see the man again until a week later. And then just barely. From what Peter would gather, Jerry strode straight through the front door, because—he'd later understand—once given, an invitation to a vampire is good until it's rescinded. And, of course, a house’s occupants rarely lived long enough to do that.

He saw the beginning of the carnage before he recognized the offender. Running down the stairs as soon as he heard his mum's first shriek, he watched the monster tear her throat out, drinking deep as she bled. Peter stood frozen as the monster, still holding the limp body with one hand, wiped his bloody mouth with the other, and looked up at him. Completely black, inhuman eyes met Peter's terrified ones. And at the same moment that recognition slid through Peter’s body like an icy poison, so too was made the decision he'd half-regret for the rest of his life: Run. Hide.

Peter found his spot, the same hidden nook in the attic that had saved him from (then, only imaginary) monsters when he'd been a child, and tried to keep from shuddering, to keep from breathing too loudly, to keep from doing anything that would give him up. But he couldn't shut out the sounds from below. Heavy boots, furniture crashing. Gun shots. His father's screams. Peter waited for his turn. Waited to die. It'd be fitting; he deserved it. For nothing more than a night of amazing sex, he'd let the monster in. But no monster came for him that night. The house soon became deathly quiet.

He fell then into a shocked sort of stupor, not quite believing he’d _survived_ , still not daring to move a muscle. Only the eventual wail of sirens roused him. And then came the screams of women, neighbors, he thought, screams that _weren’t_ immediately silenced by a demon, and he figured it might be safe. As safe as anything was from that day on, which is to say, never safe at all.

Peter will never know why Jerry didn't kill him the night they met. Or why he let him live the night a lifetime of nightmares were born, after slaughtering his parents (Peter is reasonably certain it wasn't just because he had the good sense to hide). But he suspects it was the same reason both times. Jerry wanted to see him again. And now, thanks to the cleverness and bravery of a kid barely older than Peter had been that long ago night, the vampire never would. Peter feels oddly bereft in his vindication. Alone. Who will he hate now? 

Vengeance doesn’t erase the past. And being safe doesn’t save Peter from his _own_ demons, even if it quiets their clamor, for a little while. He supposes he never will quite forgive him _self_ , his loathing will always be there to keep him company, so… at least there's that.

 

FIN


End file.
